This Could Be Us (Skyland, #2)(111)

“You’re imagining things,” I lie. I don’t even know why I lie, except I’m not sure we’re ready to share what’s going on with the world. I know she’s not. If her daughters found out, it might make things complicated. Even more complicated.

“You’re a bad liar,” Tremaine reminds me. “And the way you were salivating over that woman was frankly hard to watch. I was kinda cringing on your behalf.”

“I was not salivating.” I frown, wondering if I’m that obvious. “Was I?”

Tremaine stops in the hall to face me, setting her hands on her slim hips. She’s lean and almost as tall as I am. When she wears heels, we’re practically eye to eye.

“Should I be insulted that she’s my opposite in every way?” Tremaine asks. Despite the amused glint in her eye, I rush to disagree.

“What? No,” I say. “She’s actually a lot like you.”

“Light-skinned, hair all down her back, and not big as a minute?” Tremaine asks, but her eyes tell me she’s teasing. “Seems pretty much opposite to me.”

“You’re both fantastic mothers. You’re both smarter than me in the ways that actually count. She’s diligent and innovative and resilient and determined and compassionate.” I touch her shoulder, looking into her eyes to show my sincerity. “You’re both such good people.”

“I’m happy for you. Honestly, Kent and I had almost given up hope that you’d find anyone.”

“Thanks,” I say dryly.

“So how long has this been going on? Since all that shit went down with her husband?”

“Ex-husband, and no. We only recently started…”

I don’t know what to say. There’s no way I’m discussing sex with Tremaine. She’ll make fun of me for years to come if she finds out about the industrial-sized box of condoms in my nightstand.

“We only recently started seeing each other,” I settle on. “And it’s not public. Her girls don’t know. It’s awkward.”

“Because of the whole You put our dad in prison thing?”

“Yeah, a little. Well, for one of them in particular. The middle daughter has been having a harder time than the other two seem to be.” I glance at my watch, grateful for an excuse to end this conversation. “Don’t you have a deposition?”

“Yeah.” She slants a knowing look at me. “Don’t think we’re done. I want to know everything.”

“Well, you won’t.”

We turn in our guest badges to a woman Tremaine recognizes as the librarian and head back out. A burst of laughter from the auditorium up the hall grabs my attention as we’re about to exit the building.

“You go on ahead,” I tell Tremaine distractedly. “I’m gonna use the bathroom before I leave.”

“The bathroom, huh?” Tremaine buttons up her coat and starts toward the door. “Tell your girlfriend I can’t wait to have her over for dinner. She can make that viral salad dressing for us.”

I don’t dignify that with a response. Keeping an eye out for Diane in case she drags me back to the front desk for a guest badge, I stealthily make my way toward the auditorium. I poke my head in just enough to see but not be seen. Soledad stands onstage behind a table, stirring something in a bowl and wearing an apron over her jumpsuit that says I’M THE COOL MOM.

“This dish is one of my girls’ favorites,” she tells the assembled sixth graders. “It bakes all in one pan. This one’s vegetarian because Inez’s sister doesn’t eat meat. Promise you won’t miss it. I brought some samples for everyone. How’s that sound?”

The crowd cheers when students from the class walk the aisles carrying trays with little cups of the food and tiny plastic tasting spoons.

“Pass me that salt, Nez,” Soledad says to the young girl standing beside her. I’ve seen photos of the girls on Soledad’s social media, and I knew her oldest, Lupe, strongly resembles Edward but has red hair instead of his blond. Seeing them side by side, I notice for the first time the strong resemblance between Soledad and her middle daughter. Inez beams, pride in every line as she assists her mother.

“I know I’m here cooking.” Soledad pauses to address the crowd, stepping out from behind the table. “But I’m not just a cook. I’m an influencer. A content creator. That wasn’t even really a thing when I was growing up, but now it is.”

She clasps her hands in front of her, smiling out over the crowd of students.

“You guys are the generation pioneering all this stuff,” she says. “I’m playing catch-up. I’ve always wanted my girls to go to college.”

She turns a playfully narrow-eyed glare on Inez. “I still do. Don’t get any ideas, young lady.”

Everyone laughs, and she turns that brilliant smile back on the assembly.

“But it’s amazing what you can do in the time we live now, the career you can have with your phone, a ring light, a few good ideas, and consistency. This is the perfect career for me because it allows me to do what I love most.” She pauses to shrug. “Make the best home possible for my girls and me. I share the meals I prepare, the ways I keep our house clean, the ways I manage our schedule and our budget with the world now. It’s my niche, and it’s changed my life. It’s given me a lot more than just a way to make a living. It’s given me new confidence and helped me value making a home as vocationally valid in a way that culture hadn’t reinforced before.”